


Lost & Found in a Graveyard

by merentha13



Category: The Professionals
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-26
Updated: 2013-01-26
Packaged: 2017-11-26 23:35:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/655628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merentha13/pseuds/merentha13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ray's lost his mum - a bit of grief and comfort</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lost & Found in a Graveyard

[](http://merentha13.livejournal.com/pics/catalog/295/48640)

It seemed so unreal – watching the one who brought him into the world being sent out of it. It left him bereft and empty. He huddled deeper into his coat as the clouds opened, wetting his face with the tears he couldn’t find on his own. Selfishly, he felt angry. He had thought she’d _always_ be there for him. But she’d left him, too. No, that wasn’t fair. It hadn’t been her choice to go. She’d fought the pain and illness for a long time, not giving in to it easily. He was glad when she’d finally succumbed; when she no longer suffered the vagaries of the insidious illness that had eaten its way through her. And feeling that gladness brought guilt. How could he be happy that she’d died? Not happy. Relieved. She was at peace. That’s what the doctors and the priest had told him. He hoped it was true. A cold breeze sent dead brown leaves swirling around his feet, mirroring the tangled thoughts and emotions that raced through his mind. He was lost and there was a hole in his heart.

He looked at Bodie, standing still and silent to the side of the other mourners, his job as pall-bearer completed. As if his partner knew he was being watched - knew that he was needed - Bodie’s eyes met his and he let the strength and comfort offered there flow through him. 

Bodie. He shook his head, remembering. He had worried over what his Mum would think of Bodie and their relationship. Bodie and Mrs Doyle had first met when he’d been in hospital recovering from Mayli’s bullets. He had no idea what had passed between them when they’d first encountered each other; fortunately he’d been unconscious. But they must have worked things out. The memory of waking one morning and seeing the two of them, grey curls and short dark hair, bent together laughing while sharing a Swiss Roll, was one of his fondest. Bodie didn’t share Swiss Rolls with just anyone. And his Mum, well she didn’t share Raymond Doyle with many – ask the girlfriends he’d brought home. His Mum had noticed that he was awake and had leaned over the bed to kiss his cheek. She read him like no other, until he’d found Bodie. She’d sensed his unease and whispered, “He’s wonderful, Ray.” He’d seen Bodie’s smug smile over her shoulder and rolled his eyes, groaning. “Yeah, he is, isn’t he?” Bodie had laughed, long and loud.

He had other memories of her, too. Older memories - of just the two of them. Of cold winter nights drinking hot cocoa, snuggled up against her as she quietly sang to him while knitting yet another scarf or sweater or afghan; of fall nights wrapped up in one of those afghans, sitting around a small bonfire on the beach at his Gran’s. He remembered her laughter at his disgruntled looks when his marshmallows turned into black, sticky cinders, while hers were toasted to perfection. She always gave hers to him to eat.

And she’d crafted more than yarn. She had re-knit the very fabric of who he was. After his Dad had left them, they’d each closed themselves off to deal with the abandonment on their own. Feeling forsaken by both parents, he’d found himself a gang on the streets and ran wild, not thinking about what his actions were costing her. It didn’t matter. He didn’t need anyone. A dispute with a rival gang left him in a coma with a fractured skull and a broken face. 

Waking one night to see her asleep in the chair in his hospital room, face drawn and pinched, he was ashamed of his selfishness. Being in hospital for so long had given him time to think. He realised that her withdrawal from him had been due to her own pain at her husband’s leaving; it had had nothing to do with her feelings for her son. Yet he’d blamed her for leaving him too, mentally if not physically, and his choices then had added to her hurt. The beating had broken through the anger and resentment his father’s desertion had brought and he vowed to make it up to her. He’d recognised that it was long past time to grow up. She had welcomed him back without a word. Just opened her arms and held him while he cried out his apology. And he had a family again. 

She’d supported him when he’d announced he was off to art school, although he wasn’t too sure she’d have been happy with some of what he’d got up to there. She’d told him it was good that he’d found something he’d wanted to do, a direction for his life.

When his roommate was killed by a gang that had attacked the patrons of a gay bar, his anger was re-kindled, but this time with a righteous purpose. Her sense of fair play and the live-and-let-live attitude she had instilled in him, caught fire and he joined the Met. She had been afraid for him, but again, had let him go his own way. 

The characteristics he had inherited from her served him well in his new profession – stubbornness, a strong sense of right and wrong, a moral outrage at those who took unfair advantage of those weaker than themselves, and a need to see that everyone got a fair shake.

God, he missed her.

The rain had stopped. He tipped his head back and looked up at the low scudding clouds. A single, real tear inched its way down his cheek as he sent a silent “Thanks, Mum,” to the heavens. He knew that if there really was such a place, she had to be there.

The priest finished the final benediction and the casket was lowered into the ground. The mourners filed past, offering their final farewells. When everyone had gone, he stood silently at the side of the grave. He had no words of farewell. He’d said his goodbye at her hospital bed when she was still strong enough to hear it. She'd told him not not be sad and to take care of Bodie. He shuddered as the cold wind teased the ends of his knit scarf. An image of her wrapping it around his neck when he’d left the hospital after the shooting unsettled him. He felt a warm hand squeeze his shoulder. He gave Bodie a small, sad smile and walked off towards his car.

When he noticed that Bodie had stayed behind, he turned in time to see Bodie take a flower from the vase at the side of the grave and drop it onto the casket. He saw Bodie’s gentle smile and could just barely make out the whispered words, “Rest, now. I’ll look after him.” The hole in his heart didn’t feel quite so large.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the T&SR weekly obbo Prompts: morals, knitting & a pic prompt
> 
> Disclaimer: Just borrowing the lads, no copyright infringement intended


End file.
